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Got my nose rubbed in it
Feb. 14th, 2011 08:50 pmSo I was posting yesterday about disability and how that label might apply to me.
Then I went to folk dancing, where I had to leave early because the meditation class downstairs was using a heavy, sweet incense that leaked up to us enough to cause me instant headache and confusion. I tried staying through that once, and had days of pain afterward.
(Most of the dancers were kind, but can I just complain here about the ones who told me they couldn't smell it, as if that changed something?)
Then I looked at a week-long bike trip that looks interesting, except I'm not sure how I would get reliably gluten-free food along the way, and it's not practical to carry enough for a week.
Then I talked to someone at Breitenbush about doing a three-day retreat there, except they only provide sort-of-gluten-free food, and weren't willing to work with me to provide food safe for me to eat. Again, it's not practical to bring enough food for the whole retreat, plus the conversation didn't leave me enthusiastic about giving them my business.
In all three cases, I'm left feeling very small and powerless in a very big world.
Yes, I know there's a lot I can do, and I will do some of those things. I tracked down the meditation teacher's email address and I will write him a polite letter. I will research other places to take a retreat (hopefully with chemical-free hot soaks available). I will think about ways to do unsupported bike touring through places that will have safe food for me.
The fact that I can keep problem-solving, and that I've already done enough problem-solving and thinking ahead so I'm not faced with any immediate crises (although the folk dancing problem comes close - that's my community we're talking about), doesn't change the fact that it's my problem alone, and the rest of the world goes on its merry way with or without me.
I think that's my new working definition of disability: a problem the rest of the world doesn't care about accommodating. Yup, got some of those.
Then I went to folk dancing, where I had to leave early because the meditation class downstairs was using a heavy, sweet incense that leaked up to us enough to cause me instant headache and confusion. I tried staying through that once, and had days of pain afterward.
(Most of the dancers were kind, but can I just complain here about the ones who told me they couldn't smell it, as if that changed something?)
Then I looked at a week-long bike trip that looks interesting, except I'm not sure how I would get reliably gluten-free food along the way, and it's not practical to carry enough for a week.
Then I talked to someone at Breitenbush about doing a three-day retreat there, except they only provide sort-of-gluten-free food, and weren't willing to work with me to provide food safe for me to eat. Again, it's not practical to bring enough food for the whole retreat, plus the conversation didn't leave me enthusiastic about giving them my business.
In all three cases, I'm left feeling very small and powerless in a very big world.
Yes, I know there's a lot I can do, and I will do some of those things. I tracked down the meditation teacher's email address and I will write him a polite letter. I will research other places to take a retreat (hopefully with chemical-free hot soaks available). I will think about ways to do unsupported bike touring through places that will have safe food for me.
The fact that I can keep problem-solving, and that I've already done enough problem-solving and thinking ahead so I'm not faced with any immediate crises (although the folk dancing problem comes close - that's my community we're talking about), doesn't change the fact that it's my problem alone, and the rest of the world goes on its merry way with or without me.
I think that's my new working definition of disability: a problem the rest of the world doesn't care about accommodating. Yup, got some of those.
